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Visiting the Homeland
Stanix is usually the last place one would expect to find an offworld researcher who theoretically merits a high-caste position. On the other hand, most researchers aren't Nautica; with her sympathy towards the insecticons, and her fascination for anything /new/ to learn, perhaps Stanix -- with its old, forgotten religions and relative lack of altmode discrimination -- is not that surprising a place to find the Camien outlier after all. Having concluded whatever she was looking for in the Acid Wastes, she now stands outside an old and largely-disused temple, looking it over curiously as if -- through sheer willpower alone -- she can make the crumbling walls surrender their secrets to her. "Theos Maia," says a voice from somewhere behind Nautica. "Few practice it now, thanks to the Functionist Council." That voice should be uncomfortably familiar to Nautica, since it's been in her head. Tarantulas is standing a short distance off, looking at the ruins as well. Though Nautica doesn't startle visibly, it's a near thing; she was a bit lost in her own thoughts, and it's pure chance she manages to keep herself from jumping slightly in surprise at that voice. "It seems odd, to know so little about this planet's real history. On Caminus, we were busy building a new world, so Cybertronian history was only covered in broad strokes. And then once I was here..." She gestures, as if shredding something and throwing it into the air, concluding, "...no one seems that /interested/ in the past." "They're far too focused on trying to make a better world. They discarded so much of the past, thinking themselves better, beyond it. Determined not to repeat the mistakes of their forebears," Tarantulas states calmly. There's no subterfuge, no guile, no giddy machinations. He almost seems normal. That in and of itself is probably as unsettling as his usual behavior. "It seems to me that you should know the /past/ in order to build the /future/," Nautica notes, her tone uncharacteristically sour. "Otherwise, you just find new ways to repeat old mistakes, ones that you forgot about." "Unless you're so arrogant you believe yourself an infallible prime," Tarantulas muses. He steps over to the old temple, and he reaches out to touch the pillars at the front, with a certain fond familiarity. "Do you know why the functionists hate this order so much?" "No, I don't. Honestly, I don't really know anything about this order, yet," Nautica replies. After a moment, she follows the old spider over towards the temple, though she watches /him/ as much as she does the temple itself. It's not the behavior she expected from him, perhaps. "It's... strange, really, to see things this /old/. Everything on Caminus is fairly new, since the colony hasn't been around that long." "There was a time when we all worked together, when we fought enemies far worse than any senate, creatures that wanted to enslave us, suck our planet dry of resources and sell us as mindless slaves to the organic races of the galaxy. I think that is the only time we all worked as one," Tarantulas sighs, remembering things like the elderly creature he is. He steps back from the temple. "Theos Maia: The midwives of Primus. They were the nursemaids of new sparks, trained to look at a spark, and just from its color, it's turning, it's pulse, its subtle structure, what the shape and personality of that individual would be. They would nurture a spark towards what it should, by virtue of its ignited nature, become." He turns to face Nautica, hands disappearing into the folds of his robe. "For a time we abandoned this to try to simply force sparks into frames convenient to our society's need. The Maians decried this openly, saying it warped the spark. For their convictions and refusal to bow to the demands of their 'better's, they were driven out, put through empurata, or executed." "Were they ever wrong?" Nautica asks. But then she shakes her head, dismissing her own question quickly. "No, it doesn't matter; even if they were, it would be wrong less often than all /this/ seems to be. Where our personalities get shaped by our frames, instead." Stepping forward, she rests a hand on one of the pillars of the temple, looking up at the ruined structure. "I keep wanting to believe there's a way to convince everyone to work together again. To pull together. What couldn't we achieve with /all/ the castes -- all Cybertronians -- working to a shared end?" She lets her hand drop, her tone turning darker. "But I'm not as naive as I used to be; too much has happened for everyone to join together, the way things stand now." "There is an old schism still in play," Tarantulas explains. "And some of the old ones think we are doomed to repeat an endless circle. First was the Guilding hand, then an uprising by Mortilus, leading to war; Then came the Knights of Cybertron, who recreated the world and then left the rest of us here, to be preyed upon by the horrors from the stars. Finally there were the Primes, who fought amongst themselves, sending thirteen tribes into war across the planet, until they, too, vanished. Now... now we have our Senate, and a populace standing on the precipice of another cycle." "One of my friends is fascinated by the Knights," Nautica muses, turning to face Tarantulas again. Perhaps she's searching his expression -- his demeanor -- for something. "He likes to think of them as a sign of hope. That if we could find them, they'd have a solution for all the things wrong with Cybertron. I suppose it's comforting to have something to believe in. A faith, a hope, a plan. /Something/ that lets you feel there's an answer out there." "I have my hopes to at least sustain Cybertron's population a little longer." Tarantulas gestures to the city around them. "Look here: In this forgotten little polity on the edge of the wilderness, there is SOME semlance of hope and trust. Do you know why that is?" "On a guess? Because if you really have to struggle against the environment -- against the world -- to make a life, the bot next to you is more likely to be an ally against the world. And it doesn't matter what their alt-mode is," Nautica replies after a moment. "It isn't until you have time to settle -- to stop struggling, and to be /idle/ -- that you start to think about differences as more important than similarities." "Perhaps we are not destined for peace, because peace is -stagnation-. Evolution is the antithesis of a stagnant utopia. Only when there is struggle is their growth and change. The hot spots have nearly ceased completely to ignite. Our society languishes, trapped in functionist rhetoric," Tarantulas states, enjoying the philosophical debate of it. He is beginning to admire Nautica's mind far more than he enjoys just oogling her attractive frame. One might even say that he's beginning to -respect- her. "Perhaps the reason we continue to cycle through war and peace... is because those states are the seasons of our species." "When I landed on this world, I was so young and /naive/. But now... now I wonder if maybe peace just isn't sustainable for any culture," Nautica muses. "It's like building a tower. The longer you remain at peace, the taller you can build it. The higher the heights you can reach. But eventually, if you build too high..." The Camien femme gestures at the rubble around them, as if in demonstration. "...it all crumbles under its own weight. Maybe the best we can hope for is to maintain peace in /our/ lifetimes." After a moment, she meets Tarantulas' gaze. "Kickback was taken back to his hive." It might seem like a topic shift at first, until she says finally, "You wanted that, didn't you? It was part of what you hoped would happen, if we all got free. The changes you made to him... they aren't useful to your plan, if he's not back there among them." "What I -actually- wanted was for Proteus to accept him as a bodyguard," Tarantulas states, coming completely clean. He feels no need to hide it from Nautica. "From there he would have a full view of the loathsome corruption and abuse taking place in the government. It would give him the experience and training he needs to make the best possible choices for the hives - here and everywhere on the planet. He would learn that it is a necessity to cull the evil that rests there, if not for his own kindred, then for the others that suffer under their boot-heel. " "That..." Nautica pauses, and then tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment of the argument's validity. "Alright, that makes sense; I can't deny the Senate seems to be a cesspool of corruption. But there's more to it than that, isn't there? I'm young, Tarantulas, but I'm not a fool. You don't mean just the right choices within the hives -- within leadership -- but the right choices /on the battlefield/, don't you." "Correct," he states. "Althought I am less concerned about him returning to the hive than you might think. You see, an insecticon is a spark /network/. They spawn drones that are a part of their consciousness, making them a small super-organism. When the 'brain' of the hive is killed, it becomes possible for one of the drones to grow into a new 'head'. Kickback's progenitor was slaughtered in order for its hatching pods to be gathered. Now that he is returning to the hive, he will be re-emersed in the neurological network of his birth." "Hn." Nautica mulls this over for a long moment, one hand toying with the wrench she wears at her side. "That explains a few things about another insecticon I've met." She makes no further explanation of /that/ particular thought, however, and instead moves on to, "Does that mean Kickback will stop being /Kickback/? Or does it mean the changes you made to his CNA will affect the rest of his hive?" She leaves out the changes /she/ made to Kickback, since those were merely to his frame. "Kickback will simply regain all the memories and experiences he lost prior to his forebear's demise. What he has now will stay with him as well. As for his CNA, well, it might affect his drones, but it won't affect the hive. All I did was make some adjustments to his physical strength. Swarmers are not the strongest caste in the hive," Tarantulas chuckles. "I noticed that," Nautica admits. "While I was rebuilding them, I mean. Shrapnel was considerably sturdier. And Bombshell frankly terrifies me for entirely different reasons." This last sentence is said a little more quietly, and with a slightly dry edge. But then Nautica seems to put the topic aside, observing, "You're a very strange mech, Old Spider. But then, I suppose we all are odd, in our own ways. If we weren't, I wouldn't be where I am: talking to insecticons, and working on frame maintenance for those who the bots in power would rather forget or ignore." "I am simply very old, and very tired of watching my tribe be punished for things outside of their control. Eventually, one gets tired of watching generation after generation march into empty, meaningless lives of toil and ignorance, with no way to escape their fate." Tarantulas chuckles a little, eyes bright, as if a wave of madness hits him. "You should visit the Great Hives if you can! I'm certain you might find some of your curiosities satisfied witnessing a rebirth!" "And I'm young, and not quite as cynical as I could be yet." Nautica pauses, then asks curiously, "What do you mean by a rebirth, though? Since they're a networked spark entity, do they some how recycle the sparks of those who pass away?" After a moment, the Camien adds a touch dryly, "Though I'm not sure how enthusiastic they would be about a 'Hollow' entering their hives in the first place, even one who can speak wavespeech. And I wouldn't blame them, what with the hunters." "You made an impression on the boy, as did his 'Queen'," Tarantulas says. "I think you'll be more accepted than you know." He then grins widely. "Of course if you'd like a /date/ to the occasion..." "An impression, hm? I admit, I'm /proud/ of him. Maybe that's not my place, but he's like... a spark-brother, I suppose. Family is what we make it, after all." Nautica shakes her head, and adds, "And besides, he's got a curiosity -- a drive to know /how things work/ -- that seems awfully familiar to me." The remark about a 'date' earns a pause. This is, she suspects, a bot old enough that -- based on what she got from his memories -- he personally saw those cycles he described. Someone whose very thought patterns -- much less motives -- may be beyond what a young offworlder can decipher readily. On the other hand... perhaps there are things to learn from him, still. And curiosity is hard to overcome. So instead of saying 'no', she asks, "What, exactly, is the etiquette for such a situation? I'd prefer not to end up on the menu, after all." "My presence would be enough to gain you access without trouble. I'd just like to see you witness the rebirthing." He clicks his mandibles amusedly. "It's actually a rather nice thing to see the look of wonder in a young bot's eyes when they witness something that makes an impression." Caution wars with curiosity, and -- as is pretty much always the inevitable outcome with Nautica -- curiosity wins out. "Alright," she says finally, the decision made. "When will there be one of these 'rebirths', then?" "Within a few days time," Tarantulas says as he transmits a communication frequency to Nautica. "--My signal. When the time is right, I'll hail you and let you know." "All right. And..." A pause, then the Camien adds, "Thank you. For this, and for your part in helping ease the escape attempt." "I may be a touch mad, but I'm not -evil-," Tarantulas chuffs. "Enjoy the village! Get to know the citizens here! Frankly--" He mutters a little wryly, "--you'll be -safer-." "Safer than what?" Nautica asks, her attention caught by that. "Than embassy in Iacon? Or my efforts to help with frame maintenance for those who have nowhere else to turn?" Tarantulas laughs a little to himself. "Yes!" he answers cryptically before slipping into a crowd and getting lost in the shuffle.